Possibilities
by A Paper Moon
Summary: If, hypothetically speaking, Dean and Jo were given the chance to get together, these would be theoretical moments in their lives. One/Two-Shots. Pre/During/Post Series. Fifth Chapter: Like Sands Through the Hourglass. Thanks for the heads up, asshole.
1. Stubbornness Always Temporarily Wins

**Notes:** I do not own the television show Supernatural but if I did, they would not have killed Jo! I'm so pissed they did (but, I'm pleased to know that others are just as angry as I am). Unite, Angry-FF-Mob-Participants! We shall override Supernatural's writers with mean, threatening letters. Well, not really because that would be illegal. :P Okay, please enjoy.

**Side Notage:** These shots will be based on various prompts.

**Summary:** He loved them all, he really did. But, seriously? She was his baby; he couldn't just let her go like that.

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_Possibilities  
_**Supernatural  
**Chapter o1. Stubbornness Always (Temporarily) Wins  
Original Plot Ownership: mikesh  
Rating: PG-13/T (mild language, minor suggestive themes, adorableness)  
Prompt: #28―torn

**Dedication: **To mikesh. Honestly, you were a huge inspiration in writing this. If it wasn't for you, this story wouldn't be happening. Thanks so much for your encouragement!

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"No way."

"Uh, _yes_ way."

"Jo, it's not going to happen," he shot back. William, Sophia, and Mary watched interested as their parents stood on either side of the kitchen, their stances and attitudes reminiscent of _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_, a classic by their father's standards.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll do as I say," a tall, apparently _very_ stubborn blonde retaliated. She stood firmly, hands on hips as she glared down the oak floors at her husband.

"Oh really? If I know what's good for me?" the brunette mocked. His jade-colored eyes were narrowed, dark browns furrowing together. They stared down at one another, both of their faces grim as neither refused to budge. There was a knock at the door; no one really paid attention to it.

The doorbell rang. Nothing.

It sounded like someone was physically kicking the door and Mary, the eldest, sighed when she realized she would have to be the one to answer it. Brushing past her five-year-old brother and fifteen-month-old sister, Mary skidded around the corner of the kitchen before regaining her footing and walking to the entryway.

Pulling back on a grayish-blue curtain, Mary saw her uncle, Sam Winchester, standing frustratedly on the front porch. Though Mary was only six years of age, she knew trouble when she saw it. Quickly, she opened the door.

When Sam saw the young Winchester, his exasperation and anxiety faded away. He knelt down to Mary's height and spread wide his arms, waiting for a hug. The young brunette obliged and embraced her uncle warmly.

"Hi, Uncle Sammy," she murmured.

Softly, he remarked, "Hey, yourself, bean sprout. I'm glad to see you're okay." Mary, confused, pulled back from Sam's grasp to look at his face.

"Why wouldn't I be okay, Uncle Sammy?"

The older Winchester stood back up and patiently remained still until Mary moved aside to let him in. As he took off his coat, he replied, "Well, I called your daddy, but he didn't answer so I called your mama. When she didn't pick up the phone, I got worried."

Mary giggled girlishly, her response breaking slightly with her laughs. "Oh, we're fine. Mommy and Daddy are just having a little argument, but, Big Uncle Bobby says it'll, how'd he put it, 'blow over.'"

Sam sighed with solace. He had truly been concerned when neither Winchester had answered their phones. There had been a few 'mysterious deaths' around town lately and Sam had been worried that maybe his brother and sister-in-law had been hurt. Currently, however, he realized that maybe a killer zombie wasn't the worst of Dean's problems.

"What's your daddy done wrong now?" Sam asked.

Though a normal child would've replied that her daddy did nothing of the sort, Mary just exhaled loudly before muttering, "Mommy wants Daddy to give up his baby, but Daddy said, 'No way.'"

A jubilant chuckle burst forth from Sam's throat at Mary's innocent retelling of events. Only with those two would a car be such a big deal.

"Sounds about right," he commented.

Suddenly, there was an apprehensive call from further in the house. "Mary, honey, who's at the door?"

The child yelled back, "Uncle Sammy."

There was a quite, "Oh, crap."

"Yeah, yeah, Dean, I already heard about your little _endeavor_ with the Misses."

"Shut your cakehole, Sammy," Dean snapped.

Sam grabbed onto Mary's petite hand and the two of them walked past the living room into the kitchen where both Jo and Dean were still in a stare-off. Little Sophia was secured in her highchair, her hands clapping together in amusement as William watched from his seat at the table.

Without tearing his eyes away from Jo, Dean pleaded, "Sammy, tell Jo that it's a ridiculous idea to sell her. I mean, look at all she's been through."

Jo butted in, "C'mon, Sam. You know as well as I do how sweet that car was―in 1967. Hell, she even ran great while we were on the chase but still, it's 2016; time to move on."

Dean inhaled a rather superfluous gasp, his eyes shining with mock hurt. "Jo, how could you say that? After all she did for you, you'd just toss her to the curb like that?"

The blonde rolled her eyes, her voice thick with delight as she retorted, "We're _not_ 'kicking her to the curb,' Dean. You're giving her to Stevie. We all know how much he cherishes that car. Shit, he'll probably take better care of it than you did."

"Woman," Dean exclaimed, "you did _not _just say that." No body, _no body_, messed with the Impala. He would be damned if he let anyone else touch her.

"It's a car, Dean," Sam tried.

"_She_ is my baby, _Sammy_."

"Car," Sophia babbled.

Everything stopped.

Jo finally looked from her youngest daughter to Dean, her mouth wide. She eventually sputtered, "Did Sophia just say 'car?'"

Dean nodded, his jaw too slack and ajar.

Sam walked over to his littlest niece and picked her up adoringly. "Soph, what did you just say?" he all but cooed.

"Car," she repeated, her tiny voice nearly giggling the word. She squealed in delight when Sam kissed her cheek, his smile wide.

"Sophia, you just spoke," Jo pointed out, her tone light and joyful. Both she and Dean momentarily paused in their argument as they reached for their daughter.

Sam watched happily as his brother and his wife cuddled Sophia. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but the sight the three made tugged at his heart. If only their parents and Ellen could've seen them; he knew they would've been so proud. To think, Dean Winchester would have had the guts to propose to Joanna Harvelle, let alone procreate with her. It was so bizarre and yet touching at the same time.

William and Mary ran to their parents, their hands outstretched as they demanded to take part in the group hug. Jo and Dean complied.

Okay, so the sight was actually somewhat creepy and a bit too much on the mushy side for Sam. Really, he loved his brother's family, he did, but, there had been enough embracing and love-giving for one day.

"Guys, this is adorable and all, but I've got to hit the road." Never in Sam's life did he think that he would be the one still roaming around and fighting the supernatural while Dean settled down with a wife and kids. Sure, Sammy had his girlfriend, Emily, a young English Major, but they were still in the throws of early dating-hood; nothing too concrete and serious. He nodded to Dean who returned the gesture and made his way back to front door where he grabbed his coat and let himself out.

As he walked to his cherry-red, '69 Pontiac GTO, Sammy grinned. There was no way in hell that he'd every sell his Lady. Jo didn't know what she was doing to Dean, making him give up the Impala in so they could buy some lushy, feminine crossover. Just because those newer models were more roomy and got better MPG didn't mean that they were necessarily the superior vehicle.

"Pfft, I'd never do that to you," he crooned as his fingers ran over the bright, newly waxed hood. He heard someone clear his throat and Sam turned to see Stevie, one of Dean and Jo's neighbors, his lanky figure clearly pointing out his late-blooming adolescence. The eighteen-year-old stood at the end of the driveway expectantly as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his dirty, grease-covered jeans.

"So?" he prompted.

Sam shook his head, "No dice, bud. Sorry."

"Damn."

"I know," he consoled. "Maybe next week."

"All right, man. Have a good one." And with that, Sam revved the engine, Stevie walked back to his house, and Dean, now detached from his family, stared longingly at the Impala, her sleek, black coat shinning in the sun.

"Oh, Baby," he whispered. "I love you."

Suddenly, pain registered in his head and Dean yelped. "What the hell?"

"Dean Winchester," Jo scolded, "you'd better not be telling that car you love it."

Sheepishly scratching the back of his head, Dean casted his gaze downward.

"Honestly, what am I going to do with you?"

As Jo walked away, Dean called out, "I love you too! You know that right? Jo? Jo? Hey, Jo, I'm talking to you!"

"Yeah, yeah. Go make the kids lunch."

Complaining, Dean complied knowing that should he go against his wife's command, it would be goodbye bed, hello couch and really, when you were a hormonal thirty-something, the couch was your worst enemy.

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Please drop a review if you have time. Thanks. :D


	2. Bonding

**Notes:** I do not own the television show Supernatural but if I did, they would not have killed Jo! I'm so pissed they did (but, I'm pleased to know that others are just as angry as I am). Unite, Angry-FF-Mob-Participants! We shall override Supernatural's writers with mean, threatening letters. Well, not really because that would be illegal. :P Okay, please enjoy.

**Side Notage:** These shots will be based on various prompts.

**Summary:** Even if giving up his best kept secret embarrassed the hell out of him, he'd do it over again just to see his little girl's smile.

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_._

_Possibilities  
_**Supernatural  
**Chapter o2. Bonding  
Person Who Got My Brain Going: mikesh  
Rating: PG/K+ (mild language)  
Prompt: #13―secrets

**Dedication: **To beyondwonder. I wanted to give you a huge thanks! :D Your reviews (in the stories of mine that you have given) always seem to cheer me up. You give the best constructive words an author could ask for.

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The screeching sound of a sudden breakage made Jo Winchester run to the front window where her eldest daughter, Mary, was desperately trying to appease her father. She heard a muffled yet quickly rising apology spill out of Mary's mouth followed by a low chuckle from Dean. Jo rolled her eyes before turning around to find Sophia and William, an important lesson planned for the day.

"It's all right there, kiddo," Dean was quick to reassure.

Mary's cheeks were bright red as she anxiously fiddled with the small colt-shaped keychain on the Impala's key ring.

"Mmkay, sweetie, let up on the break," her father instructed.

Mary did just that, her foot nervously pulling up from the pedal.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the Impala began to gently roll forward. The sound of crunching gravel reached her ears and, after receiving an encouraging nod from her father, Mary pushed down on the gas.

The car roared to life and bits of rock shot up around the tires. Mary gasped loudly as her hands clutched the steering wheel in an attempt to control both the car and her beating heart. Her knuckles turned white as her petite fingers gripped tighter to the leather wheel.

Immediately following, Mary slammed her foot on the break causing the Impala to lurch to a halt.

Dean's head snapped forward at the sudden series of movements. Startled, he looked down at Mary, his fifteen-year-old daughter appearing on the verge of tears. Dean worriedly reached out for her, but before his fingers could brush her shoulder, Mary unclasped the seat belt and bolted from the car, her shoes sliding around in the pebbles as she sprinted to the house.

"Mary!" Dean shouted, the Impala continuing to roll down the street. Dean undid his belt and hurriedly slid across the seat to throw the vehicle into park. He shut the driver's side door and briskly walked up the driveway.

Upon entering through the front door, he spotted his wife, her stance still at the beginning of the hallway.

"Jo?"

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes glued to Mary's room.

Dean ran a hand through his unruly hair and muttered, "I don't know. One minute she was driving, the next she was running away."

Turning to her husband, Jo spoke up, "Did you say something?"

Looking aghast, or as close to appalled as Dean Winchester could, he replied, "No. I didn't say a word."

He was worried. Though he wasn't supposed to do so, he had secretly made Mary his most beloved child. She was his first real baby, aside from the Impala, and when she had stretched out her miniature hand and held on to his fingers with her own tiny ones, she had taken his entire heart. He loved her more than words could express. That was why her seemed rejection pulled at his heartstrings and had him greatly troubled. Had he done something wrong to upset her?

"I should talk to her," he suggested.

Jo nodded and returned to the kitchen where she had been teaching Sophia and William the difference between a switchblade and a filleting knife and when it was best to use either one. With a laugh, she had told her children that filleting knives weren't just for skinning fish.

Dean knocked on Mary's door and when he heard no response, gently turned the knob only to realize that she had placed a chair under the handle, jamming it. He continued to jiggle the doorknob and when he couldn't get it, was tempted to retrieve his lock-picking case from his bedroom. Reality set in when he concluded that manually unlocking her door would only add more tension and grief to the already strained afternoon.

"Mary Ann Winchester, you'd better open this door or so help me, I'll kick it down and you can hang a bed sheet in its place."

It was an empty threat and Mary knew that; there was no way that her mother would let her father live under the same roof if he demolished another door. After the first incident, Dean was able to lie his way through a horrendously bogus story about ghostly apparitions and the need to get to Sophia as fast as possible. Jo had been wary, but let the exaggeration slip through without any type of punishment. Nonetheless, both Mary and her father realized that lying to Jo was a one time affair; try it once and you might live. Trying it again, however, and you probably wouldn't be able to make it to the door quick enough.

The sound of her laughter meant she was okay and seconds later, Dean heard the scraping of her chair on the wooden floor and the door opened.

Standing before him, Mary looked up, her jade eyes—definitely her father's—misted over with unshed tears.

"Hey, can I come in?"

She nodded.

Tentatively, Dean entered his daughter's room. It was a pale green and sparsely decorated. Just photos of her family and friends donned the walls, the occasional clipping of a '60 or '70 model car, various guns and a few tattered but well loved band posters here and there.

She sat down and waited for her father to speak. Finally, he did.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his voice soothing, or at least trying to be. He had never been good with females (that was always Sam's department) and now that he had two daughters, he was forced to quickly learn the ropes.

Silence and then, "I didn't want to disappoint you."

Dean was taken aback. She didn't want to _disappoint_ him? Where did she get that idea?

Sputtering to finish her thought, Mary added, "You always seem so cool. I didn't want to look like a dork in front of you."

Now Dean laughed. _If only you knew._

"What?" Mary complained. Why was her father laughing at her.

"Oh, sweetie. You think I'm cool? Thanks, but I wasn't always this way." Striking a masculine pose, he continued, "It took years for _this_ to happen."

Mary giggled as her father settled in on her bed. "The first time my dad let me drive, I screwed up seven different ways."

"I hardly doubt that," Mary commented.

"No, seriously!" Dean's face was stretched with a wide grin and Jo, who had meandered her way down the hall to spy on the two, couldn't help but smile as she leaned against the door frame. She looked on intently, her attention divided as she watched the father and daughter, yet allowed her ears to listen for any signs of trouble from the back yard. (Sophia and William were outside as they pretended to hunt demons with plastic knives and a bottle of "holy water.")

"Really?"

"Really. I learned in a ruby red, 1965 Pontiac GTO. She was real beauty. Such a shame I couldn't get the stick right."

"You couldn't drive a stick?" Mary was interested now.

"Yep. Stalled that baby six times before I realized it was clutch before shift." Dean was slightly embarrassed about admitting this, but while he watched Mary grip at her sides as she laughed uncontrollably, he realized it was all worth it.

Jo pushed off from the wall and went out back to collect her younger brood for dinner. By a quarter past seven, the Winchester clan was seated at the table, their hands joined as they said Grace.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Your bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen," they recited.

Just as they were about to break hands, Jo quickly added, "And I give thanks for letting Dean learn how to drive a stick."

There was muffled laughter and as Dean looked to Jo, his face pink, she offered him a warm smile and mouthed, "I love you."

With a mock chuckle, followed by a real one, Dean grinned back. "Too bad your mother never did."

Both Mary and Sophia gasped and William spoke up, "Way to call Mom out."

"Dean Winchester, you'd better take that back," Jo threatened.

"Or what?"

Jo was out of her seat with such speed, none of the children realized she had gotten up until Dean was yelling "Uncle" and pounding his un-held fist on the tabletop. His face was pushed into the cherry surface, one of his arms pinned behind his back, Jo chuckling sadistically from over his shoulder.

"What was that?"

"I was wrong!" he sputtered, "I love you and I was wrong!"

Settling back on her heels, Jo smiled sweetly, "See, that's what I _thought_ you said."

As Dean rotated his bruised shoulder, Jo returned to her seat. "That, children, is why you never insult a woman. Mary, Sophia, take notes. And William, if I ever hear a phrase like that come out of your mouth, I'll have your hide."

"Yes, Ma'am," came three replies.

"Good. Now eat up—your food is getting cold. And Dean, do know that I love you."

"I'm sure you do," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Love you too."

Later, as the two laid in bed together, Dean was able to take his revenge and needless to say, they didn't rise until eleven the next morning.

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So, I wasn't sure how to end this one. Um, ideas are welcomed. I know that Dean wouldn't usually be such a sap, but let me tell you, children can totally alter your personality. (Please, just go along with that. :P) Drop a review if you're not too busy. They make me happy. :DD


	3. The Way to a Man's Heart

**Notes:** I do not own the television show Supernatural but if I did, they would not have killed Jo! I'm so pissed they did (but, I'm pleased to know that others are just as angry as I am). Unite, Angry-FF-Mob-Participants! We shall override Supernatural's writers with mean, threatening letters. Well, not really because that would be illegal. :P Okay, please enjoy.

**Side Notage:** These shots will be based on various prompts.

**Summary:** Who said anything about pie? Guns are where it's at.

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_Possibilities  
_**Supernatural  
**Chapter o3. The Way To A Man's Heart  
Amazing Individual Who Started It All: mikesh  
Rating: PG-13/T (language, Dean being Dean)  
Prompt: #7―chance encounter

**Dedication: **To lynsay. I swear when I read your review that we were related brain-children. Everything  
you said is what I've been thinking! That's for all your encouragement. Want to go in halfers on that hitman? :DD

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It is a rehearsed philosophy amongst housewives and girlfriends that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Now, not as to kick dirt upon the female chain of knowledge (we all know how much Dean Winchester worships the ground any woman walks upon and that he'll run twice as fast if that woman is naked and holding a freshly baked apple pie) but even he has a few standards that take the cake, theoretically speaking, of course.

The one lucky lady that figured that out was able to successfully tie the knot with said hunter years down the road.

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The July afternoon is hot with never-ending blue skies and browning fields and Joanna Harvelle is sure that if she doesn't get out and stretch her legs soon, she might kick a hole through the back of Dylan the Drunkard's seat. They've seen nothing for the past six and a half hours besides a small bush and a dead opossum or two and the bus is starting to smell like whatever happened in the bathroom. She's positive she doesn't want to know.

A sign is slowly becoming discernable through the bug-splattered windshield of the ancient Greyhound and she sits up a little more as hope fills her chest.

"Fruit, Refreshments, More!" the sign reads cheerfully and Jo wants to jump up and tell the crotchety old driver to stop the damn bus so they can get of this rancid toaster of a vehicle and meander about because she's sure that Dylan may have vomited on himself and Suzie, the crazy escaped mental patient keeps asking Jo if she's seen Mr. Muffins.

No, for the last damn time, she has no idea in hell where _Mr. Muffins_ went! Stop asking or she'll take that sweet little sweater of the yarn-frolicking kittens and light it on fire before flying it from the bus' antenna.

Jo can hear the vehicle's rusty old breaks begin to protest signaling that yes, yes they were stopping. She sighs in relief and pushes her way to the front before the bus has even stopped moving.

The doors open to the sound of the geriatric driver scolding Jo for not, "Waiting until the bus came to a complete stop," and she can't help but laugh at the persistence in his voice.

Just as the sign said, there is a small tent filled with small baskets of raspberries, peaches, apples, and other sugary produce. Jo practically sways as she walks through the varying aisles of food, the warm breeze moving her golden hair about. Her hands brush against her bare skin, the denim shorts she's wearing coming halfway down her thighs.

There's nothing really here to grab all eighteen years of her attention. It's just as she's about to park it on the edge of ditch that she hears the swearing of what sounds like a young guy and the clicking of metal.

"Damn it…"

Jo peers around the corner of the beige canopy to spot a young man in snuggly fit, charcoal tee struggling with what appears to be a gun and by the look on his face, things aren't going well.

As her father was a bit on the gun-savvy side, she decides to intervene before the man accidently blows his own foot off.

"Um, excuse me?"

The man jumps and turns around and both are stopped both mentally and physically as they stare each other down.

"What the hell?" he finally manages and it takes Jo all of three seconds to cross the dry, brittle ground to snatch the gun from his hands.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" she asks and his green eyes widen at her courage.

"Well, princess, I know that you're kind ain't all intuitive about these things, but this here," he wryly remarks as he snatches the pistol from her grasp, "is what we big kids call guns."

Jo is furious. "Alright,_ asshole_, no need to be cheeky; I know what this is." With wicked fast reactions, she pulls the gun from him as she states, "1911, 45 Colt and, if you're aiming to lose a limb, you're just about there."

He's speechless as he watches her spin the chamber around, the slugs falling from their spots. He's never had a girl fire back at him so quickly and he'd be lying to himself if he says that doesn't turn him on a bit.

The petite blonde is eyeing the pistol, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip as she concentrates, her fingers deftly getting a feel for the piece. Finally he catches on.

"Wait, what?"

"You're trying to chamber hot loads aren't you?"

"What?"

"Your ammo, dip stick. It won't work. You're trying to shove some hot loads in the chamber but it won't happen. You'll blow your hand off before you ever actually get a shot."

His interest is peeked. "Really?" Damn, he thought something was off. Still, he's impressed.

"Yeah," she responds.

He takes the gun back from her with a curt nod and then re-extends his hand. "Dean."

She's cautious but returns the gesture. "Jo."

"Nice to meet you."

"…You too." _I think._

Just as she's about to inquire more as to this "Dean" character, she hears the exhaust cough out of the rusty tin can and she's off, back to bus before it leaves her in the middle of Kansas.

She's curious about that man and he's sure he's never met a girl like her. Secretly, they both look forward to the next time they meet each other.

Unfortunately for Dean, it's more of boy meets butt-end of rifle but the romance that blooms is about the same so hey, who's checking?

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The end. Let me know what you think. :) As to why Dean's there, chalk it up to the fact that it's Kansas and he somehow always finds his way back to Kansas. No Sammy, but you can look forward to that later. Have a good one, you guys. :D


	4. We All Slip Up Sometimes

**Notes:** I do not own the television show Supernatural but if I did these stories wouldn't have to be "hypothetical." Oh darn. A girl can dream, right? :)

**Side Notage:** These shots will be based on various prompts.

**Summary: **It was something she never liked to show.

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_Possibilities  
_**Supernatural  
**Chapter o4. We All Slip Up Sometimes  
Person I Owe Much To: mikesh  
Rating: PG-13/T (language, a bit of violence)  
Prompt: #47―weakness

**Dedication: **To davis395. I agree, one-upping Dean is always fun. :)

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_Run fast for your mother,  
Run fast for your father.  
Run for your children,  
For your sisters and brothers.  
Leave all your loving, your loving behind.  
You can't carry it with you if you want to survive__._

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Jo was never one to show an emotion that she didn't see necessary. When she was happy, she let everyone know, but if the people around her meant nothing to her, she wouldn't dare crack a smile. When she was pissed, oh boy, you knew it. However, when she was sad, she wouldn't tell a soul, and God forbid she ever let you know when she was scared. Some emotions were okay but fear; fear was never an option. That might have been why Dean Winchester was so flabbergasted when, on one particularly startling evening, he saw Joanna Harvelle look frightened and honestly, that scared the shit out of him.

They had just left the Roadhouse and were on a short hop, skip, and jump to Elaine, Arkansas to investigate a disappearance of young children. It turned out, after a few days of snooping around, that a very low-level demon was capturing the souls of the youth in order to try and call upon some other, more powerful, yet still lower-level demon. Needless to say, with a few choice spells and several splashes of holy water, Dean and Sam finished the hunt and were ready to head back.

However, Jo wasn't quite ready to part with the small town and insisted that they hang around for a few more days. Her reasoning was that it reminded her of a city she used to live in. It was unfortunate that she had chosen to stay when she did―because of that decision, she ended up showing one of her best friends the side of her she never wanted anyone to see.

As evening befell the small town, the trio prepared themselves for bed. Jo told the boys that she wanted to get drink from the vending machine outside the dingy motel and it was minutes later that Dean heard the most terrifying sound he'd ever had the displeasure to hear: Jo's scream.

Rushing outside, the Winchester brothers spotted Jo, her hand flinging around trying to find the small handgun she always kept on her person. Her eyes were wide with fear, something that startled Dean. Jo never _ever _showed fear if she could help it―maybe a few years ago when she was still naïve and unaware of the dangers of hunting, but not now. Now she was a hardened hunter who never took shit from anyone, the years of seeing things no one should ever see making her nearly immune to the darker side of humanity.

The most shocking thing about the entire situation was the creature that was holding the blonde woman hostage. It took Dean a minute to place the face of the demon but when Sam whispered, "Harvelle," it struck the elder Winchester that the demon was taking on the visage of Jo's long-deceased father.

Ink eyes sized up the brothers and in a menacing voice, it said, "You killed a dear, dear friend of mine, and now, I shall show you what that feels like."

"The hell you will!" Dean shot back and if it wasn't for Jo's stubborn stare, he might have attacked.

"Dean, think a minute," Sam muttered.

Dean pulled the sawed-off shotgun from his side, the barrel pointed squarely at the face of William Harvelle. His finger steadied itself upon the trigger though he could feel the anxiety rattling his lean frame.

Barely, he heard the whimper of Jo, "P-Please, Dean."

Please what? Please shoot; please don't?

Tension was quickly building and though Dean didn't want to admit it, he knew that every second he wasted, Jo was closer to death.

The demon's calloused fingers flickered over her throat, the sharp blade in his opposing hand following suit, a thin dribble of blood trickling down the pale column of her neck.

"Dammit," Dean cursed, his finger tensing more forcing the trigger downward yet not quite far enough for the gun to go off.

Sam placed a calming hand on his brother's shoulder, his voice soothing as he whispered, "Easy there, bro."

Jo's eyes slid closed and she could feel the fear freezing every muscle within her body, telling her that now as a time to give up and let things be as they were. It was her father, for God's sake; there was no way she could lash out at the man that had her heart since day one. There was no possible way she could attack the one man that she felt she could trust; the one man her mother actually showed a tinge of kindness to; the one man that helped her learn to throw a knife, fire a gun, dispel a demon. She knew, deep down, that this vile creature wasn't her father and yet, only a mere glance at his withering face had her still in her movements.

"Jo," Dean practically barked.

Her eyes opened again only this time, there wasn't any spark in them―her usual fighting spirit was dim beneath her bourbon-colored irises. She was timid and cautious and made no further move to fight back.

"Dammit, Jo."

"Now, now, Deano, you wouldn't want to make any sudden movements. I've got your precious girly in my arms right now. You'll be answering me for that little charade you lot did yesterday, killing off one of my closest companions."

"I don't have to answer any of your damn questions!" Dean shot back.

"Oh yes, yes you do."

The demon laughed, the knife burrowing deeper into Jo's throat, its sharpened edge leaving a small trail of blood in its wake. It moved in a graceful arch to her collarbone where it began to carve alongside the protruding bone and Jo had to bite down harshly on her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

"You bastard!" Dean cried, Sam's own voice echoing his.

Without a second thought, Dean's finger slammed down on the thin trigger, the kickback slamming into his shoulder, the resounding sound of the gunshot ringing in everyone's ears. The demon was pushed backwards, but not killed and it wasn't until Sam lifted his right hand with the Colt that the creature even realized its time was done.

With a single shot, the bullet flew through the air and embedded itself in the chest of the fake William Harvelle. Light coursed through the demon's ribcage, its glow illuminating the entire being's self and within seconds, it was dead.

Jo dropped to the ground, her knees too limp to hold her up anymore. Again, without thinking, Dean sprinted to her side, his arms coming to her shoulders to pull her back from the cracked sidewalk. His hazel eyes stared her down and it seemed she was in too much shock to even cry.

"Jo, are you okay?"

She numbly nodded and Dean grabbed onto her arm heaving her upward and to the door of his and Sam's motel room.

"You'll take Sam's bed."

"Hey!" came Sam's attempt at protest.

"Shut it."

And though Jo wasn't one for talking after incidents such as that one, she spoke a bit to the Winchesters about what she had wanted to do at the time but couldn't. Dean knew it was a big step for her and refused to mock her for anything, at least for the next month or so.

And even though everyone had questions they were dying to ask, they all knew they could wait until later. Dean would only hug her gently about the shoulders and tuck her in before kicking Sam to the floor and shutting of the lights. And when Jo whimpered in her sleep, Dean was at her side, her body next to his, though under the top sheet. He would place a soothing hand on her side, his other going to cushion his own head. He'd talk to her until she fell back asleep and neither Winchester would make comment of that incident later.

Jo might have shown a moment of weakness but the brothers knew that everyone, at one point or another, would make the slip, Jo included. She may have lapsed that night, but she'd be back the next morning, ready to kick some demonic ass. That was just the type of woman she was: She hated to show an emotion that was unnecessary but when she was pissed, oh boy, you knew it.

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_The dog days are over,  
The dog days are done.  
The horses are coming,  
So you better run._

Dog Days Are Over|**Florence and the Machine**

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Kind of an oddball one but I just wanted it out there that Jo is one tough lady even if part of the show portrayed her as anything but. Anyways, leave your commens, criticism, and whatnot. You lovely people know the drill. :)


	5. Like Sands Through the Hourglass

**Notes:** I do not own the television show Supernatural but if I did these stories wouldn't have to be "hypothetical." Oh darn. A girl can dream, right? :) Oh, and if Jo seems a little off, I can kind of picture her swearing like a sailor when it comes to Dean's wellbeing. Let me know if you think that's out of line. Thanks :)

**Side Notage:** These shots will be based on various prompts.

**Summary:** Thanks for the heads up, asshole.

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_Possibilities  
_**Supernatural  
**Chapter o5. Like Sands Through the Hourglass  
Someone You Should All Thank: mikesh  
Rating: R/M (this language might warrant that rating)  
Prompt: #32―time

**Dedication: **To alleah91. I'm glad that you enjoyed my perspective on Jo. I wasn't  
originally going to have her father as the demon, but something changed my mind. I hope  
you continue to read. Thank you very much. :)

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To say I was royally pissed when I heard that Dean didn't have much longer to live was a gross underestimation. That was one part of Dean Winchester that I just couldn't stand; the fact that he thought he was all high and mighty and too good to let the one woman who stood by him in on a little secret: "Hey, just letting you know, but I'm dying." Would it be so hard to get a little heads up? I don't think so.

So that asshole thinks he can just up and die without telling me? Well, I bet I can fix that little snob-complex of his real quick.

I spot that spiky-haired dipshit while heading out of the backdoor of the Roadhouse to empty some garbage which, by the way, is starting to fill up with dozens upon dozens of beer bottles. (Mom needs to start charging more if we're going to go through so much alcohol. I'm glad there are some great hunters out there but honestly, they drink more than a dehydrated jackrabbit on a stifling, August afternoon.)

I have half a mind to tear him a new one that exact moment but I swear, the look on his face is enough to stop me in my steps and I'm silent as I drop the black, plastic bags near the banged up wastebasket.

He's on the phone with, who I presume, is Sammy and by the sound of his voice, his younger counterpart isn't too pleased with him. By what I can hear, apparently, Dean snuck off leaving Sam alone in Pierre. Ugh, boys.

Dean's apologizing like usual, telling Sammy that he's sorry to have bailed but he needed some alone time to contemplate some things. Yeah, I was kind of thrown off by his tone but the pleading look in his stagnant gaze spoke volumes of his true feelings.

He hangs up on Sam and is heading toward the Impala and before I know what I'm doing, I'm tearing off after him before he can slam the car door shut.

The door is closing and I throw my arm out to catch the edge before it can jam my hand in the frame. He looks startled at my sudden appearance and I want to gloat, "That's right, idiot, I knew you were here."

His eyes are wide and for a split second, I'm lost in them. There's flex of gold around his pupils and they've got me mesmerized. I probably look like the biggest idgit to ever live, what with me staring at him like he's grown a second head, but for a minute, I'm taken aback at his expression.

Sure, Dean was always a good looking kid―ever since I met him in Kansas almost a decade ago, I knew he'd be an attractive one―but the look on his face is lost and forlorn like he's a dying dog, lying down to his fate. I'm torn; part of me wants to pull him close and hold onto him and another part wants to slap the hell out of him and chew his ear off for a few good hours. I decide to go fifty/fifty.

First slap, then yell, then comfort. Yeah, that'll do it.

There's the resounding _smack_, the subsequent stinging throughout my entire hand, and the easily predicted outcry of: "What the _hell_?"

"You ass!" I scream at him and I'm sure my face is as red as the palm of my hand.

Oh, ho―now I've got his attention.

"_I'm_ the ass?"

"Correct."

He's turned to look at me, his face wearing the five-fingered mark very well. He's unaffected, as I thought, but at least, I think, he could have at least had the decency to hold his face with a hand like the guys always do in those old Bogart films. No, my idiot just stares up at me, a scowl clearly etched in his features.

He's up and out of the car in six seconds flat, his lean frame towering over mine. Arms crossed in a very Dean-like fashion, he asks, "Oh? And why the hell is that?"

I roll my eyes, much to his dismay, and reply, "I don't know. Maybe because you didn't tell me you were planning on dying?"

He's all ears now.

The look on his face softens a tad, but I chalk it up to my imagination as "Dean" and "soft" don't really belong in the same sentence in _any_ way.

The wind is picking up and I want to laugh at Mother Nature's little agreement to my anger. I keep focused on Dean and when he doesn't make a move to talk, I push him a bit, my hand squarely meeting his chest.

"What did you want me to say? Huh, Jo?" Dean won't make eye contact and I know I've hit a nerve.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe something like, 'Jo, I might have sold my soul for Sam's life at the bargain of one year?' That could've worked."

He scoffs as his gaze lands on a specific rock of the gravel road. Finally, he speaks up with: "Yeah, sure."

I grab onto his forearms and snap, "Really, Dean? Why didn't you say anything?"

He still refuses to look at me but replies all the same, "You wouldn't believe me."

Now I scoff. "I wouldn't _believe_ you? I'm sure selling one's soul is a Winchester tradition. Trust me, buddy, I'd believe you."

"No," he corrects, "you wouldn't believe the _reason_ I didn't tell you."

He goes on to tell me why but I cut him off, "If you try and feed me that bullshit about protecting me, I swear to God, I will kick your ass."

"Jo…"

"Don't!" Now _I'm _the one that can't look at him. It seems too real now; the fact that he won't buck up and admit it makes me feel that he really did sell his soul.

"Tell me you're lying or I swear…"

He shakes his head, his eyes solemn as he almost whispers, "No, I did it. For Sammy."

My hands fall from his arms and I feel the wind whip past us like Hell itself is trying to get at Dean's soul. Dammit, it's all happening too fast.

"Dean…"

I can hear Mom yelling for me from inside the Roadhouse but I don't want to go yet. There're so many questions I have to ask and, if my timeline is correct, he only has a few months left. By the time I track him down again, it'll be too late. I have to make the most of this moment while I can.

"Joanna Beth!"

Shit.

I hear Dean's voice, "Just go, Jo."

I shake my head, all of the information too overwhelming for these past minutes. "No, dammit. I'm tired of everyone telling me when and where I can do things. I want to make my own decisions and… Shit Dean, you should too. Live; you should be living, not dying."

I'm really trying not to cry―I don't want him to think of me as that stupid, little girl that bashed his face in with the butt of a rifle but I can't help it. Even if I can't be with him like I'd like to be, he's still one of my closest friends and one of the three peopled I'd feel lucky to have as my backup. To think he'd give it all up…

"Sam's all I've got. I can't leave him high and dry." Of course. Sammy. It's not like I hate him or anything but I feel that the Winchester Family Tree is full of men who'd do anything, and I mean _anything_ for their family. It's touching and all but their history is full of men dying for other men and it's starting to get a bit tired.

"Dammit, Dean! Why is it that you only count Sam as part of your family? Huh? Don't you realize that there are dozens of people around you that count you as part of theirs? What about Mom and Bobby? Don't they count? What about me? Do _I_ count?" I wish he'd look past his blood-relations and see that there's a whole slew of people lining up to be considered kin.

Even if not for myself, Mom and Bobby, some of the other hunters like Chris and Liz and Oscar; they've all banded together to form this makeshift family and try as they might, they can't ever seem to get Dean on board.

"Of course you count. Jo, you count more than half those other worthless hunters do. That's why I―"

"If you start spewing shit about, "That's why I didn't tell you, blah, blah, blah," I'll kill you before any demon can get their hands on you."

"Jesus, Jo! What do you want me to tell you then? Huh? If I can't tell you what I want to, do you want me to make shit up? I didn't tell you because I hate you. Does that make you feel better?"

Well, no it didn't.

"Alright then."

He's head snaps up at my remark and he questions me. "Alright then?"

"Yeah." I smile gently at him and continue, "I wanted to make sure you weren't lying to me."

He's aghast and his mouth drops open like some two-bit trout flopping around for air.

"Jo, sometimes you really bug the shit outta me." I swear I hear him chuckle and when I dare a look at him, there's a genuine smile on his face.

My grin is larger and I reply, "Yeah. But that's why you keep me around huh? For shits and giggles."

I hear Mom again with her usual, "Joanna Beth!" and I shoot Dean an apologetic smile. I can hear the clicking of her boots on the hardwood floors and both Dean and I know there'll be hell to pay if I'm not back in and waiting of customers in the next ten seconds. I'm not pegging anything on Dean but if I were in his shoes, I'd get the hell out of here too.

In a completely uncharacteristic manner of his, Dean leans forward to place a chaste kiss on my forehead and before I know it, he's thrown himself in the driver's seat, slammed the door closed, and the Impala is kicking up rocks in her wake.

"I'll call you!" I hear him yell and I shout back, "I'll hold you to that!" Lord knows I've heard _that_ line before. Anyone remember Duluth? I do and I'll be damned if there's a repeat incident.

Mom's out in seconds scolding me for bailing out on work and even though I'm sure I won't be able to hear anything out of me left ear for a week, I'm all smiles. Though I haven't really cracked the surface of Dean Winchester, I feel like I've made a bit of progress.

I flip open my cell and put it on vibrate. If he knows what's good for him, he'll call.

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And so ends another moment that may never happen. You know the drill, you lovely people. :)


End file.
